


Alan Arndt: Biotic

by DAfan7711



Series: Mass Effect Trilogy [6]
Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Grissom Academy, Grissom Academy: Emergency Evacuation, ME multiplayer, Mass Effect 3, Mass Effect 3: Citadel, N7 (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/pseuds/DAfan7711
Summary: When the Reapers hit Earth, Major Alan Arndt and his squad evacuate students from Grissom Academy and escort them to the safety of the Citadel.





	Alan Arndt: Biotic

**Author's Note:**

> Alan was inspired by my adept in ME3 multiplayer. This short story can be read as companion to any Commander Shepard, or before chapter 21 of [Soldier’s Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726) (James Vega x Jane Shepard).

When the Reapers hit Earth, Alan Arndt was on a ship running medical supplies from the Citadel to Bekenstein. It was a small, non-military colony with ample space to stockpile whatever civilian surplus they could get their hands on. The plan was to have a three-year supply ready within six months.

Just like the Alliance’s defense committee, the Citadel Council was still denying the Reaper threat, but Admiral Anderson had resigned his position on the Council months ago and had been sending Alan’s team on every little support mission he could within the bounds of his authority.

That was why Alan was puttering around on a cargo ship, playing poker with his squad when the call came in.

“Full house.” Alan grinned and lay his cards down on the table.

“Man, I thought you were bluffing.” Jacob Barnes, Alan’s least cautious—and most altruistic—vanguard, tossed his cards back to the dealer.

“Still think I cheat?” Engineer Francine Anderson asked, shuffling all the cards back together with a perfect bridge finish. She was as precise with the deck as she was with her turret calibrations.

“You _can_ count cards,” Barnes insisted. “You’re more than smart enough. That has to be why you’ve taken the last three pots.”

She shook her head. “Are you in or out? Penny to play.”

Alan yawned and stretched his arms overhead, wishing he’d gone to bed an hour earlier. “Not I. I’m going to quit while I’m five credits ahead.”

He exchanged his chips and considered waking Boom.

Jimmy Boom had fallen asleep with his head on the table. The kid could sleep anywhere, sleep through anything—if he wanted to. He could go from dead asleep to biotic charge at the smallest squeak of a boot, which had come in handy when he’d saved General Corinthus’ life on some mission he wouldn’t talk about. Other than Alan, he was the only one of them who was an N7. Anderson was ready for her N6, and Barnes had his N3.

They’d all been to the villa, made it, and kept going from there.

Alan didn’t even need to raise his voice. “Hey, Boom Man.”

“Yes, sir?” Boom opened one eye to look at him.

“I think it’s time you hit your bunk.”

“Yeah.” He sat up and rubbed his face. “What’s your take?”

“I made five credits. Barnes owes Anderson twenty.”

“Ouch. Glad I slept through that.”

“I’ll get it back tomorrow,” Barnes said. “Think I need to fold for the—”

The comm specialist’s voice came through the overhead speakers, his tone tense. “Major, there’s activity on the secondary QEC. Emergency message from Admiral Hackett.”

The room went dead silent. Anderson sat with the cards half-way back into the box. No one looked tired anymore.

Heart pounding, Alan hit the receive button on the nearest console and a garbled vid feed popped up. It was the old man himself, pink scar and white stubble stark against his pale face. He was pure steel, stern business.

“Major Arndt.”

Alan saluted. “Admiral.”

“The Reapers have launched a full assault on Earth. The Sol system is cut off. Under no circumstances are you to approach the Sol relay until I give the word.”

Tension grew along Alan’s spine, enough power for a singularity, but he had no enemy to hit with it. Earth was at war, humanity on the brink of annihilation, and his orders were to stay away. He knew it was pointless to go now. _Knew_ it would be futile to sacrifice his team there now, but that didn’t make the injustice any easier to swallow.

“Aye, aye, sir.”

“They’re hitting Alliance training facilities first. Your mission is to go to Grissom, escort the underclassmen to the Citadel.”

“Understood. Any word from Alliance HQ?”

“Luna base is gone, though the moon remains in orbit. They’ve hit Vancouver in full force: dozens of Reapers, thousands of husks. Admiral Anderson is leading the resistance there. Commander Shepard and the Normandy crew have their own mission. It’s classified.”

“That must have been a rushed reinstatement.” Alan couldn’t help but smile. If the Savior of the Citadel was on active duty, they might have a chance.

“We’re all doing our part, Major. You see those kids transferred safely.”

“Yes, sir!” He saluted again.

“Fifth Fleet out.”

Barnes gave a low, impressed whistle. “So much for another six months to prepare.”

“Any day could be our last,” Boom said.

“Can’t say I like putting everyone in one place.” Anderson closed the box of cards. “Especially since the Reapers have attacked the Citadel before.”

“They say that was the geth,” Barnes said.

“Led by a Reaper.” Anderson tapped the table with her finger, emphasizing each syllable. “And there are fewer places to hide on a space station than on a planet.”

“There’s no hiding from Reapers.” Boom’s voice was practically a whisper, but it held the weight of an ordinance.

Alan agreed. He didn’t dare voice that fear aloud.

They’d have to sleep fast tonight.

-

Breakfast was early, short, and utilitarian. No one was in the mood to talk.

Since it was an escort mission, they suited up in basic armor, with a standard rifle and sidearm each, all carefully holstered, of course. Engineer Anderson left her heavy gear behind.

Alan’s royal purple under armor was a familiar comfort, a fortifying embrace that calmed his nerves. Over it, he donned his pale blue armor, the N7 logo on his breast small but bold. His helmet remained on the locker shelf, the side painted with a blue jay facing out.

No need for helms when entering an Alliance facility.

Boom wore the classic black N7 armor, while Anderson and Barnes were in standard-issue Alliance blue. Alan wondered if this war was going to be Anderson’s chance for her N7 rank. He hoped they’d all live long enough to see it.

He led the way down into the hold. They’d exit via the cargo ramp instead of the small airlock, and ferry the kids—the recruits—aboard the same way.

The pilot’s voice came over the loudspeakers. “Major, we’re beginning our approach.”

“Very well.”

“Grissom, this is the SSV Challenger, requesting permission to dock.”

“Permission granted. Docking bay alpha-niner. Welcome, Challenger. We’ve been expecting you.”

-

The bay was quiet, just one engineer checking gear and two guards at the entrance into security. The senior guard gave them a formal welcome and led them through the first gate.

“First Lieutenant Kahlee Sanders is the current operations manager,” he said. “She’s just past security, if you’ll follow me, please.”

As they entered the security office, Sanders—a trim blonde woman in dress blues—was finishing up recording a message. “Got to go. Steven’s team is here for the students. I’ll see you soon. Stay alive.” She pushed a button on her holo-pad. “Carbon copy the message to the apartment.”

“Silversun Strip copy confirmed, Lieutenant,” a synthetic voice replied. “Have a pleasant day.”

“Right,” Sanders scoffed and shook her head.

“Major.” She stood and shook his hand, firm and formal. “We appreciate your assistance.”

“What’s the situation, Lieutenant?” Alan asked.

“At least thirty students are being transferred to the Citadel and need safe passage aboard your vessel.”

He nodded. “It’s a tight fit, but we can do it. How much time do you need to complete the roster? The ship is refueling and will be ready within minutes.”

“Not long.” She gestured for them to follow her down the hall. “I’ve called an assembly for morning drills and to brief them about Earth. They don’t know yet. Anyone on your ship good with kids or trauma?”

“It’s a cargo ship,” Alan said, matter-of-fact. “Alliance regs will have to do until we reach the Citadel.”

She paused and raised an eyebrow.

“They’ll be well looked after, Lieutenant. My team will afford them every respect, and the ship’s crew appear the compassionate sort.”

Sanders nodded her approval and led them into a practice stadium. Younger students stood at parade rest behind the safety glass, watching an older squad—they were probably about sixteen or seventeen—practice their morning drills.

_On_ their instructor.

“Woah,” Barnes murmured in awe. “That’s some serious shit.”

The woman was lean in the way only a seriously amped-up biotic could be, a sleek body of muscle and will. Instead of the Alliance uniforms all the students and other staff wore, she wore cammo pants, a white halter, and a short, studded, black leather jacket, open to reveal she had tattoos over every inch of her pale body, from the neck down.

She wore her black hair up in a pony tail, the sides of her head shaved to reveal another strip of tattoos along her skull. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old herself.

She effortlessly held a barrier with one casually opened hand. Her barrier didn’t so much as flicker as all six students simultaneously hit her with warp, then stepped back, panting. They’d been at warm-ups for a while.

“Mind your stance!” the instructor ordered. “Holos incoming.”

The field flooded with 3-D holograms of well-armored Cerberus troops.

She dropped her barrier and walked off the field. One of the students behind the glass rushed over to open the door for her. He was maybe twelve, had a biotic school patch on his shoulder, and looked up with raw admiration. She smiled down and mussed his hair, before turning to watch the older students face holographic enemies, her arms crossed over her chest, and a stern purse to her lips.

She leaned forward and jabbed a finger to activate a mic by the door. “Prangley! Your barrier’s as limp as a post-prom dick. Mind your vectors!”

Sanders coughed with disapproval and the students behind her giggled.

“What?” the instructor asked, a cheeky quirk to her lips. “I didn’t cuss.”

She looked back to see another student laughing and punching Prangley in the shoulder. “Rodriguez! Get your balls out of your purse and kick some ass.”

The student sobered and they all moved into a new pike formation, following Prangley’s graceful sidestep behind cover.

Anderson leaned over to murmur in Barnes’ ear, just loud enough for Alan to hear. “How high are these settings?”

“Don’t know. More than allowed at HQ—_Ooh_.” Barnes winced.

A holo foot soldier had flanked the students and shot Rodriguez in the shoulder. The girl went down, her shoulder steaming. Not fatal, but even a holo could put a soldier out of commission for a while with a proper shot.

Alan glanced at the instructor and Sanders. Both watched the training session carefully and remained close to the abort switch.

Prangley flung a singularity at the enemy and another student detonated it with warp, while a third slapped medi-gel on Rodriguez’s shoulder and helped her to her feet. They were all immediately moving again, splitting into two groups to flank a new enemy.

An Atlas tromped onto the field.

“_Spirits_.” Anderson’s eyes went wide.

Alan forgot to breathe.

Two students threw barriers over the rest of their squad.

With two swift movements, the other four primed and detonated the Atlas, the virtual shrapnel downing all remaining enemies and bouncing off the students’ barriers.

The barriers flickered, but held. No further injuries.

The younger students cheered and clapped.

Alan let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware of how hard his heart pounded. For a full five minutes, he’d forgotten all about his mission and why he was at Grissom. His academy experience hadn’t been anything like it. His first taste of something that intense had been his first N-class.

If every academy ran like this, word would have spread. More likely, this was a gray-ops training program. That would explain why he’d never heard of this instructor, and why Hackett himself had asked him to escort the students. The younger students were probably there because they were powerful biotics or brilliant techies and their parents had no place for them to practice their gifts. But these older students—they were almost old enough to enlist.

He glanced up at the training scoreboard, impressed by the most recent numbers. The previous day’s session was listed below it.

That couldn’t be right.

He stepped closer, confirmed it was the students’ scores and not a staff squad score. And _what_ they had been drilling.

The students were actively training for artillery strikes.

“Everybody help with cool-downs,” the instructor announced. “Briefing in five minutes.”

The younger kids poured into the arena, grinning and offering juice boxes and energy bars to the older squad. Once the door snicked closed, Alan and his team were alone with Sanders and the biotics instructor, who appraised them with a cool, emotionless stare that made Alan’s spine prickle with warning.

Ally or not, he wouldn’t make any sudden movements.

“Jack,” Sanders said, “This is Major Arndt and his team, here to escort the students to the Citadel.”

“Instructor Jack.” Alan offered his hand and she shook it firmly, but not too tight, assessing his strength.

“Anyone screws with my students and I will tear them apart.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her lips twitched with amusement at his polite reply, a faint glimmer of humor warming her eyes. “Kahlee, team beta will want to stay, and you need to give me a damn good reason to deny them that.”

“They can stay. Octavia’s team is staying as well.”

“All three of them?”

“Yes. They’ve been briefed.”

Jack’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Good. We’re going to need all the AI-ass-kicking capabilities we can get our hands on. Well, what are we waiting for? These kids have been in the dark long enough.” She opened the door and strode out into the training stadium.

Sanders held the door for Alan and his team, then waited as the outer door behind them opened and a student in a red engineer uniform trotted through. She joined Sanders at Jack’s side. Alan and his team remained a respectful step behind, and received more than a few curious looks from the students.

As they walked to the front, the chatter in the assembly grew.

“Where’s David?” one student asked another, pointing to the engineering student. “Something bad must have happened.”

“You _always_ think something bad must have happened.”

“Yeah, but—”

They had reached the front of the arena, and Jack jumped right into the briefing. “You all know about what I did at the Collector base.”

The assembly stilled.

“Commander Shepard bought us time, but that time is up,” Jack continued, her voice carrying through the large space, no microphone necessary. “Last night, our real battle began: The Alliance fights the Reapers on Earth today, right now. The Sol relay is cut off. Ground troops engage the enemy in Vancouver, London, Luna base, and every major city planetside.”

Most students stared at her with rapt attention. A boy on the end glanced nervously at the door, his lips trembling. The depth of understanding on his face smote Alan’s heart. The other students were blithely curious. This guy knew what they were dealing with.

Barnes looked at Alan, raised an eyebrow. Alan nodded the go-ahead, and Barnes casually approached the student.

“Hey, man,” he said in an undertone while Jack made her announcement, “could you show me the way to the mess hall?”

The student blinked with surprise and glanced at Sanders, who nodded to indicate that it was okay for him to leave. The two stepped out of formation and slipped out a side door.

“It is your mission to stay alive, keep learning,” Jack said. “Most of you are transferring to the Citadel school, where you’ll be studying with instructors you already know through our extranet vidchats.” She gestured toward Alan. “Major Arndt’s team will escort you there.”

“An N7?!” a younger student in the front exclaimed, and his friend elbowed him to keep quiet.

Alan smiled. “That’s right. You warrant Special Forces protection.”

“Woah.” Chatter broke out amongst the students again.

“You do,” Jack told them, and they hushed again. “Every one of you has earned your place. You have twenty minutes to pack. Take only what you can carry. Pack all personal effects. Follow the emergency checklist on your omni-tools and check in with your bunk leader.

“What are you going to do?” she shouted.

“Check in with our bunk leader!” the students replied in unison.

“I’m proud of you. Dismissed.”

Students poured off the field, through the stadium doors.

“Prangley!” Jack beckoned to him. His squad plowed their way upstream through the other students, toward her.

When they passed Alan, the scent of spent biotics, medi-gel, and singed flesh and fabric followed them.

“They’re awfully young, Blue Jay,” Boom spoke for his ears only.

“Yeah, Boom,” Alan said. But they’re ready.”

“I’ll show you to the mess and guest locker rooms.” Sanders led them down the hall, where they found Barnes sitting at an otherwise empty table—they were all empty—munching on a protein bar. Sanders sent the finalized student roster from her omni-tool to Alan’s and headed back to her office.

“So,” Anderson sat down next to Barnes, “How did it go?”

“Name’s Archie. Both of his dads, and his older sister, are stationed in Vancouver. Collectors got his mom.” He chomped off another bite of protein bar and chewed angrily. “He wants to join Prangley’s team but knows he can’t ask – too young. He’s a techie.”

Barnes swallowed. “Gave him your e-mail, Francine.”

“Thanks. I’ll watch for it.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Barnes crumpled up his wrapped and tossed it toward the bin. It bounced on the edge and went in.

-

The students filed up the ramp, onto the cargo ship. Each carried a camping mat—the ship had a dozen bunks, already full, so they were going to have to sleep in the hold—and their own pack. More than one student had a plushie toy strapped to their pack, including one with a hanar and another with a classic Earth teddy bear.

The first few hours were full of excited chatter, everyone comparing what rumors they could find on the hobbled extranet via their omni-tools, the biotic kids passing pillows and packs back and forth with biotic fields, the techies fiddling with small engine kits Anderson provided.

None of them complained about the academy rations that Alan and the ship’s captain distributed for lunch and dinner. To them, it was an inconsequential detail in their big adventure to the Citadel school.

Two of the ship’s crew—marines from Bekenstein—grabbed a mid-day rest so they could stay up with the kids overnight.

By the time they’d hit the showers and retired to the crew’s quarters, Alan had a pounding headache between his eyes and across the back of his shoulders. He grabbed his water canteen, some pills, and a protein bar—they were getting low. When they got to the Citadel, he’d see if they were still at the market, or rationed through the Alliance affairs office.

Boom was already settled in his lower bunk, staring up at nothing. “She had a lot of kill marks.”

“Who?” Alan asked

Boom sighed and rolled over to look up, a haunted look in his eyes. “Instructor Jack. Lots of her tattoos are for specific kills: Blood Pack, batarians, Blue Suns. Nameless black ops. Random slavers. At least two turians. I don’t know what all of them are for, but those I can tell. _How_ did she end up in Grissom?”

“She’s a friend of Shepard’s.” Barnes untucked the blanket from the foot of his bunk, stuck his bare foot out into the cold air.

“We’ve taken out our own share of targets,” Anderson said, peering over the edge of her bed to look down at Boom. “What’s bothering you?”

Boom frowned. “I think it’s different. I just don’t know how.”

“Maybe it’s better, Boom Man,” Barnes said. “She knows how rough it can get, preparing them in ways somebody else can’t.”

“You think that?” Boom’s frown deepened.

“Yeah,” Barnes yawned, throwing an arm over his eyes. “I got a good vibe from the instructor, and the kids respect her. Blue Jay, you ever going to turn that light off?”

“Yeah, man.” Alan killed the lights, which only marginally lessened his headache.

-

They docked at bay D23, where they were met by two instructors, an asari and a human, from the Alliance’s new youth hostel, housed down in the Kithoi Ward. With the exception of Barnes’ new friend Archie looking over his shoulder, the excited kids immediately forgot about Alan’s team and followed their new guides further into the Citadel.

Let them. They’d learn all too soon about the hardest parts of war. They wouldn’t know where their family and friends were. They’d find themselves surrounded by strangers, in a place where some of the residents were old enough to recount chilling tales of the Rachni wars.

“Well done,” Alan told his squad. “I’ve got to check in at the embassy, but you’re on shore leave until tomorrow’s oh-eight-hundred departure.”

Barnes bumped Boom’s elbow. “Set your alarm, kid. There’s no daylight cycle outside of the Presidium.”

Boom grinned. “Thanks, Barnes, but I know how Citadel time works.”

They all made their way through next bay, toward a big bank of elevators.

There was a flurry of activity behind them, and people scattered to the sides of the hallway.

“Where are you taking him?”

“Huerta Memorial. Best care on the Citadel.”

The crowd parted for a pair of EMT’s carrying a battlefield stretcher. The unconscious human wore Alliance-blue armor with a biotics division logo on the shoulder. His curly jet-black hair was plastered to his skull and his forehead was a one giant, swelling bruise.

Alan knew him.

“Ah, shit.”

“Who is it?” Anderson asked.

“Major Alenko. We’ve done events at Grissom. He’s another of Admiral Anderson’s pet projects.”

“You’re nobody’s pet,” she said.

“Hey,” Barnes pointed. “Is that—_Commander Shepard_?”

It was indeed the Savior of the Citadel, along with an asari and a beefy Alliance marine, talking with a Battlespace reporter whose over-the-shoulder cam was off.

“Yeah, fanboy,” Boom said. “You want an autograph?”

“I might,” Barnes answered with mock indignation.

“All right.” Boom strode off toward the commander and Barnes followed. “I’ll help you get Shepard’s autograph, if you’ll get me a chance to chat up Diana Allers.”

“Who?”

“The lady reporter.”

Anderson shook her head and joined Alan on the elevator.

“How about you?” he asked. “Anyone you want to hunt down for an autograph?”

She laughed. “Archangel, maybe, but he’s not on the Citadel.”

“Isn’t he dead?”

“Nope. A private on Palaven told me he escaped Omega and is actually high up in the meritocracy these days.”

“Really?” Alan asked, now genuinely interested. “How do you feel about that?” She had certain reservations about the turians’ strict tiers of citizenship – all twenty-seven of them.

She shrugged, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “I answered Admiral Anderson’s call. Transferred to your unit.”

“That’s not the same as leaving an independent life for the Hierarchy.”

“Whatever made him change his mind, I’m sure it was for a good cause. And we’re all going to be fighting Reapers now, whatever our societal structure.” She crossed her arms over her chest. Not a typical move for her. “Really, Alan, I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Of course. Want to hit Apollo’s for lunch?”

“Yeah.”

-

“So, three biotics and an engineer walk into a bar . . .” Barnes stepped off the elevator to join them out front of Purgatory.

“You dance?” Boom asked him.

“Only if you will, Boom Man. And I’ll need a beer first. Just one—maybe two. Don’t want to be puking my guts out in the morning. You in, Anderson? I know Blue Jay’s in. He moves like an elcor, but he’ll dance with anyone.”

“Thanks, man.” Alan laughed.

“I’m always up for a beer and a dance off,” Anderson said.

She had better rhythm, but Barnes had the nicer singing voice, so they called it a tie.

Boom insisted on buying all their drinks, and he ingratiated himself with the asari bartender, who introduced them to a biotoball squad at a corner booth. The rest of the evening was a blur of biotic stories—they were going to play the Seattle Sorcerers soon and Alan doubted the human team stood a chance—and explaining idioms and Earth customs.

Anderson ended up calibrating each asari’s omni-tool while Barnes regaled them with tales of the Space Needle and Ferris wheel.

Boom had one elbow on the table, his hand covering one eye and half of his face. He’d had enough beer that his words were starting to slur. He scrunched up his nose in confusion.

“You never been Seattle.”

Barnes laughed. “I’ve seen the vids.” He turned his adoring gaze back on the asari who smiled indulgently. “They have a marvelous gift shop.”

Extranet addresses were exchanged, along with promises to check out the Usaru Maestros training facility on Thessia, if the humans ever made it there.

The four of them called it an early night and Barnes walked Boom back to the ship with his arm around his waist.

“I can walk,” Boom insisted. “It’s the floor that’s blurry.”

“Absolutely,” Barnes said, steering him around a raised flower bed and down the ramp to the docking bay.

Alan reviewed Hackett’s latest orders and checked in with the ship’s captain with their new coordinates: They were to investigate a turian fuel depot that had gone dark. That was a problem for tomorrow.

Moving stealthily in the semi-darkness, he set a water canteen and bottle of aspirin by Boom’s bunk, where the young biotic was sound asleep.

“Hey, Blue Jay,” Barnes whispered from his bunk. Above him, Anderson pretended to be asleep.

“Yeah?” Alan killed the light and crawled under his own blanket.

“I got Shepard’s autograph.”

Alan stifled a chuckle and grinned in the dark. “Congratulations, man.”

“Yeah. Pretty cool. Good night.”

“’night.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can check out my other stories [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/works).
> 
> Want to chat about gaming or writing? Drop a comment below, or find my e-mail and social media information on [my AO3 profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DAfan7711/profile).
> 
> Alan was inspired by my adept in ME3 multiplayer. This short story can be read as companion to any Commander Shepard, or before chapter 21 of [Soldier’s Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18125726) (James Vega x Jane Shepard).


End file.
